knight in tinfoil and cardboard
by paper piper
Summary: Making them happy was the most important thing in the world. -Tamaki/Haruhi


A/N: a little disjointed because I wrote this on and off for a while. I'm still not 100% in love with it, but it's finished now. Enjoy.

A/N: italicized lyrics are from "Sweet Disposition," by the Temper Trap.

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**Title**: a knight in tinfoil and cardboard

**Summary**: Making them happy was the most important thing in the world. –Tamaki/Haruhi

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_Sweet disposition_

_Never too soon_

_Oh, reckless abandon_

_Like no one's watching you_

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"_You are my beautiful boy,"_ came the voice from the furthest reaches of his memory. A soft smile accompanied it—a smile he forever identified as womanhood. _"And I love you the most."_

The boy raised his head to her touch. _I want to make you feel wonderful_, he thought, though he could not say the words. He was still so very young. _I want to make all of you feel beautiful. _

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"Welcome to the Host Club, princess," he greeted, head bent low but eyes on her face. The girl in front of him blushed; he could see it was the first time she'd been here. Was it the first time someone had said this to her?—"What can I do to make you happy? I would do all of it."

She flushed a deeper color and gave him her hand to lead away to a table. He introduced the selection of delicious types: the twins, little devils; Kyoya, the cool type; Honey, the boy Lolita; Mori, the strong and silent type; and of course, himself, the Prince. While she glanced at the group of assembled men, he silently prayed, _Let me be your Prince. It's the most important to me_.

She sat down with him in the end, letting him fawn over her lovely chestnut locks, dark eyes, and soft smiles. He never once touched her, her being a first-timer and all; he merely chatted with her, asked about her hobbies, likes, and dislikes, and complimented her when the occasion arose. He smiled, felt his soul lift with each lift of her lips.

_This is the most important thing in the world._

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He never forgot any of them. He knew their names, faces, hopes, dreams—he knew what they liked in a man, and what they feared. He knew when they were pleased with him by the way they tilted their heads, the soft giggle, the squeal of pleasure. He knew who feared physical touch and who relished it. He knew it all.

"Sempai, you should really stop taking advantage of these girls," someone teased. "They don't know that it's all a game."

He blinked in genuine surprise. "A game?"

This was no game to him. This was life. This was the realization of dreams, right here, in his humble afternoon club.

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He still dreamed about her, sometimes. The woman at the window, in her long French robes, hair just alike to his, eyes big and sad. But her voice, her voice was so beautiful—"Tamaki, you should go outside and play sometimes. You can't stay cooped up in here with me all the time."

But how could he think of leaving her? "Mother, I'd much rather stay here with you. May I play the piano?"

And he could see, from the smile on her face, that she was pleased.

He lived and breathed off of that smile, the smile of a woman who loved him so completely, who knew him in side and out, who gave up so much for him. He wanted all girls to feel that way.

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He didn't think any one could outdo another. He loved all girls. He loved their strength, their fragility, their fresh pink skin, their curls and their eye lashes, the delicate insides of their wrists. They were the pieces to one magnificent body of work: _Gloriana_, the female race.

She stepped out of the dressing room, when seconds ago she had been a boy. She laughed, and she looked so lovely standing in the girls' uniform, when seconds ago she had looked so right and comfortable in slacks and a blazer. This creature stepped from another world and into his own, drifting between the rich and poor, the male and the female. He couldn't find her, he couldn't place her. He couldn't pin her down.

He frowned and flushed like a small boy. He suddenly felt so inadequate. So small.

_How could I hope to guess your desires? How could I make you happy?_

"Haruhi, you're a girl?"

"Biologically, yes."

His world grew tenfold.

_Mother, do you see this? What could I say to make her smile like you did?_

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Oh, but she did smile. And man, what a smile! She smiled with her whole face, and it was clear she hadn't smiled enough in her childhood—he could picture her so perfectly now, as a child, with her long brown locks and brown baby eyes. And now Haruhi was smiling, even laughing, alongside him.

And he could see, too, that she was able to make the girls happy. How? She simply gave of herself.

"My mother was the most beautiful, intelligent woman in the world," she praised to the girls, eyes glittering earnestly. Something inside of him twitched—he wished he could meet this woman. In his mind, he could see Haruhi's mother sitting alongside his own mother, one in lawyerly slacks and blazer, the other in French lace gowns. The picture was intoxicating. Almost as intoxicating as watching Haruhi speak to the guests.

He moved toward them now, thinking to sweep all of them (including Haruhi) off their feet. Instead, Haruhi only looked at him skeptically as the other girls swooned.

He felt his smallness again. _What did I do now?_

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"Oh Haruhi, don't say that to Daddy!" he wept one afternoon.

She sighed for the hundredth time and said, "Sempai, you are not my father."

In his desperation to keep her attention, he blurted: "But Haruhi, making you happy is the most important thing in the world to me."

The entire room stopped what it was doing. The twins were in the doorway; Kyoya's hands had stopped typing; Honey had a mouth full of cake; and Mori lifted one eyebrow. Tamaki himself was red from his collarbone to his hairline. Haruhi didn't seem to notice.

"Sempai, that doesn't make you my father," she retorted. "Just be my sempai." She traipsed out the door, calling over her shoulder, "See you tomorrow!"

_Mother, will I ever reach this one?_

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He was beginning to despair when the thunder split the skies.

The entire school was on lockdown for the storm, but Tamaki ignored his teacher's desperate cries down the hall—_Stay where you are, Mr. Suo!_ But how could he do that, when he didn't know where she was?

The twins were on lockdown with their class, but she wasn't with them. He was about to bash their heads in for not looking for her themselves when he heard a shriek down the hall. He headed in the direction of the janitor's closet.

Tamaki put his ear to the door, "Haruhi, are you in there?"

"Sempai?" she wept.

"Let me in, Haruhi," he said gently.

A few seconds later, he heard the door unlock, and he raced inside—and into her arms. She was shivering and cold in his arms, like a broken little bird, _apologizing for her fear and her stupidity, for her neediness, she hadn't meant to be in anyone's way, she wanted to be strong—_

"Haruhi, stop," he ordered, afraid he might cry in the wake of her pain. He shook his head and continued to hold her. "It's my pleasure to come to your aid."

He felt the goose bumps rise on her arms, and he shivered too. She was just so close and so breathy and so wonderful, from the tip of her nose to the flat chest to the long lean legs. And he couldn't ignore how fresh the smell of her hair was.

"Thank you," she finally murmured. "I really needed you."

Oh, he would have scaled her walls and conquered her city right there, if he thought that was what she wanted.

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"Why did you decide to create the host club, Sempai?" she asked one afternoon over tea. She was sitting with her legs crossed, a cup of tea in her hand.

He looked a little surprised. "You don't know?" At her look, he continued, "Because it makes the girls happy."

"But aren't you concerned that they'll over-fantasize? It can't be good for their emotional development," she countered.

But he only shrugged and smiled. "They'll find their fantasies no matter what, I think. I'd rather they receive the love from someone who means it."

Now Haruhi looked really confused. "You mean every single thing you say to them?"

"Every single thing."

"But how?"

He cocked his head now, eyes soft and thoughtful. He was picturing their mothers standing together again, at the window in his French house.

"Not only was I raised with chivalry firmly entrenched in my mind, but I also genuinely love all women," he said. "They remind me of my mother. I find something lovely in each and every girl who steps into this room, and they need to hear that."

Haruhi was looking at him now with a strange look on her face, and he wasn't sure if it was disbelief or admiration. _What if she thinks I'm just a pervert?_ He panicked a little.

"I-I don't play around with any of them, though," he added hastily. "The only time I really see them is during club activity."

Now she laughed: "I know, Sempai, don't worry." She paused, drank her tea while he was waiting, fidgeting disgracefully. "I was just thinking how wonderful that was, how you love us all."

He filled up to the brim then, basking in the glow of her approval. He ventured, "I do love you, Haruhi. I hope you understand that."

Something odd crossed her face before she covered it up with a smile. "Thank you, Sempai."

(But he could still see that expression in his mind, stained forever—_What are you afraid of, Haruhi?_

He wanted to help her, so badly.)

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"Haruhi, why aren't you like other girls?" he asked, rather bluntly.

"Because you treat me like a guy in the Host Club," she shot back, equally blunt.

They were sitting in Music Room 3, she trying to finish some homework before her next class, and he trying to distract her from said homework. Well, actually, he was groping at something in the further reaches of his mind, and he was having trouble figuring out what it was.

"Yes, but, you get upset when we treat you like a girl!"

She cocked a brow and put down her pencil. "I don't like it when you treat me like an object," she countered.

He scoffed and looked truly hurt. "We never treat anyone like an object, least of all you."

She sighed. "Just stop trying to put me in frilly perverted things, then we'll be fine." She turned back to her work.

He blinked, and his voice betrayed no guile when he said it: "I just want you to feel beautiful."

Now Haruhi stopped and looked at him for a long moment. She was seeing in his eyes windows and flowers and sunlight in a far away country; she saw pictured there the goddess that Tamaki worshipped. Gloriana revealed herself in Tamaki's eyes at last.

_You really just want to help us, don't you?_ She wanted to smile, but somehow that would belittle the situation.

"You don't have to do that, Tamaki."

Some kind of weakness made itself known in his gut. He coughed a little, and frowned. "It's—it's my duty, somehow," he fumbled with the words. "As a man. As a Prince. I have to be a lady's white knight, because, where else is she going to get that love?"

Haruhi shook her head slowly, but she was smiling a small smile. "Girls are not so breakable as you think we are, and you are no tso invincible as you think you are."

"But—but it's so _important_," he stressed. He could practically see his mother standing at Haruhi's elbow; they were wearing the same expression.

"You don't have to be the knight in shining armor all the time," she said patiently, calmly. She sounded so firm and logical and real. "You can be human and breakable too."

He could feel the weight of his armor slipping from his shoulders. He was standing in tinfoil and cardboard, like a child before his playmates. The shadow of his mother raised her hands to clap softly; her eyes were so bright.

_Good job, my beautiful boy. I'm so proud of you._

"What if I want to be a Prince for them?" he whispered, looking at her.

She sighed. "That's fine. But be yourself. That will be Princely enough."

And now Haruhi smiled at him, a smile a little bit (_just a little bit_) alike to the ones his Princesses gave him when they sat down to tea together. And he had no perfected sideways glance or teardrops for Haruhi, no act to play, no compliments to offer. She was just smiling at _him_, at the him who stood there in his weakness and good intentions. He blinked. His mother was gone.

"Could I be your Prince, Haruhi?" he murmured now.

Her smile widened now, to his surprise. He thought she would brush off his attempt and say, "I don't need a Prince, idiot." But no—Haruhi truly looked every inch a Princess that afternoon, in her men's clothes with a halo of light on her hair from the window.

"I would be insulted if you weren't, Tamaki."

He stood now, bowed low and formally to the girl in the chair. He kept his head respectfully bent when he spoke, so he didn't see the pink blush that made its way to her cheeks.

"It's the most important thing in the world to me, Princess."

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_fin._

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A/N: please **review**, my lovelies :D making you happy is the most important thing in the world.


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